As I lay writing

I have decided that Microsoft Office took away a piece of my  writing creativity. Worrying about space and APA format in text citations and reference lists is mind numbing. I liken the effect to novocaine for the soul- there is numbness but no pain. The analgesic properties of academic writing aside I find myself with a little time to begin writing the words I was born to write. Where to begin?


In 1877 I was a planter in New Orleans my wife had just died in childbirth and the babe along with her, Oh shit that is Interview with The Vampire. Let me try again- I am born. With little fanfare to a youngish married lower middle class couple. My mother was no exceptional beauty or intellect and my father was Siclian and crippled from a youthful bout with polio. At 6 pounds I was a red and runty looking infant with none of the cherubic featires that allowed infants to ingratiuate themselves into their mother’s hearts with ease. I do not know whether my mother loved me as an infant or if her distance was one ashe had grown accustomned to. By the age of 4 I can remeber her and I having an unstated agreement. I would not ask for too much and she would not be required to give too much.


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